


Eternal Sunshine

by sequinnox



Series: Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Byakuya and Renji are mentioned, F/M, POV Outsider, The Protect Ichigo Squad has new members, blink and you miss it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequinnox/pseuds/sequinnox
Summary: Mugs, slippers, tea blends and coffee beans that looked more expensive than Tomoko’s entire salary, a cute fluffy blanket. A drawing with some clumsy looking bunnies and some stick figures with their heads on fire. The hairbrush filled with dark hairs. The toothbrush.Tomoko idly wondered if Ichigo realised that his lady friend was slowly moving in as the year went by. She shook her head, amused – boys like Ichigo, like Tadashi, her late husband, boys like this are oblivious, and wouldn’t know love if it hit them in the face with a katana. Tomoko rolled her eyes fondly. She would know.Or: Ichigo's maid-turned-adoptive-grandmother sees the things no one else does.(Might edit later)
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983538
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Eternal Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Late night drabble turned into a small little something.  
> What with the new season to be seen at the horizon, I can only say this: Ichigo Protection Squad, assemble!  
> PS: Ichigo being a terrible cook is my ultimate headcanon, y'all can fight me on that one.

Something was happening, and Tomoko could _feel_ it in her bones – and this time she was pretty sure it was something different than arthritis. Sometimes change came in a quick and unrelenting, earth-shattering way, but more often than that, it was a subtle shift in the air, the gentle darkening of the night sky.

Yes, Tomoko concluded, something was definitely happening with Ichigo – who, so kindly refused to be referred to as Kurosaki-san due to the age difference between the two of them. The very start of their collaboration had been roughly four years ago, and both Tomoko and Ichigo were equally startled at the sight of the other. Tomoko was a retired pastry chef with no one else to keep her company save for the cats of the quiet neighbourhood that had served as her home for the past fifty years, but Ichigo? A college student that looked like he knew the adversities of life too intimately to be just another spoiled kid with a silver spoon, fork, and complete set of cutlery in his mouth. That, and the fact that before his words, Ichigo’s scowl greeted Tomoko first.

Needless to say, she thought the contract wouldn’t last long.

And don’t get her wrong, it was not like Tomoko took a particular interest in her customers, but this boy looked so utterly lonely under that mask of his, that she couldn’t stop but notice all kinds of little things: the medical degree and other several diplomas she had found laying around in a messy pile that made her realize Ichigo was probably some kind of prodigy – which would explain his completely erratic work shift pattern, and the fact that he afforded a personal maid. The pictures he had on his wall showing a man with an obnoxiously bright smile and two girls that looked both similar and different at the same time; sometimes, in the older pictures there was a beautiful woman whose hair was so alike to Ichigo’s that it was impossible not to realize who she was. 

Then there was the pile of socks she always found on the bedroom floor. The fact that the bed was hastily half-made, the ghost of an effort that didn’t go unnoticed by Tomoko.

That, and the fact that his fridge seemed to be perpetually empty, shelves looking as if the Apocalypse had come and gone, ramen crumbs here and there staring back at Tomoko as if _she_ was the one who had rudely disturbed their existence. 

That simply wouldn’t cut it.

Tomoko was pretty amused to learn that regardless of Ichigo’s genius when it came to medical issues, his culinary skills were… questionable at best. Student or not, no decent human being should survive on pizza slices eaten in a hurry and overcooked rice. Shaking her head, on top of her maid duties, Tomoko took it upon herself to feed the boy, he was skinny enough as he was – bringing back recipes that she knew by heart after so many years, equal parts muscle memory and the all the moments that withstood time, burned on the inside of her eyelids.

The smell of freshly baked cookies seemed to awaken the young master that first time, who sported dark circles and a bed hair that defied gravity in such a way that Tomoko had to physically grab the kitchen counter in order not to laugh. Still, his eyes had shined bright – brighter than ever before – with happiness.

He told her about his sister, Yuzu, and how she used to cook for him and the rest of the family when he was still home, before he left for University. How he had not seen the rest of his family in such a long time, but his workload was too great, and his time too little. He didn’t say a single word about his mother.

If she noticed the subtle tightness in his voice, or the way he sometimes couldn’t look her in the eye, Tomoko chose not to comment on it.

Instead, she started making him several lunch boxes before going home.

Ichigo left her thank you notes in a messy scrawl near a bonus on the counter.

Neither of them talked about his new neighbour, Orihime-san, whose magnanimously offered cooking had such disturbing textures and colours that it ended up in the trash faster than either of them could close the door after a mumbled _thank you_.

It was great, but sometimes Tomoko was worried – not that she had any right to be, but. Other than the papers that kept appearing on every flat surface available, Ichigo seemed so isolated from the other people. Not only had there been no party to clean up after, but Ichigo generally asked for her opinion on what to wear to lectures and galas he was invited from time to time, after what Tomoko assumed to be another medical breakthrough. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they got along so well, talking or sitting in silence sometimes, the kind of shared silence that only the lonely knew how much it was worth.

This symbiosis worked so well, you see, in those two times a week Tomoko came around in those four years, that she simply picked up immediately when something changed. 

At first. It was the smell of pleasant, expensive fragrance that was still suspended in the air, something that seemed so unlike Ichigo that at first Tomoko thought it was a misplaced present. It was subtle enough that many would have missed it, but being _a baker_ trained one’s palate to a frightening degree – the snipers of the cooking world, one might say, and Tomoko Horikoshi has always had sharp sense, dulled only by age.

The scent faded, and Tomoko understood.

To her surprise, though, it returned a few weeks down the line, stronger this time and coming off from a beautiful pale coat on the hanger, that looked about five sizes too small to be Ichigo’s. Tomoko nodded solemnly to herself, cleaning quickly and efficiently, and if she avoided the immediate vicinity of the closed door of the bedroom, well. Let’s just say she knew better than that. 

Instead, she made breakfast for two and closed the door silently. Ichigo was young, but still she hoped that he knew how to save his heart from breaking.

And that was when Tomoko knew for sure change was happening.

In the following few months, it seemed like the perfume was a wildcard that graced Ichigo’s flat only some of the time, but then Ichigo himself seemed better rested, with a dopey smile when he thought no one was looking (which shifted immediately back to his scowl when he felt Tomoko approaching, making her roll her eyes so far back she could almost see in the past). And then his sisters visited, and Tomoko was absolutely delighted to make their acquaintance, Karin being such a sharp young woman and Yuzu absolutely conquering her heart with a limoncello tiramisu (they exchanged telephone numbers conspiratively), and Ichigo looked, happy. Overwhelmed, but happy. Tomoko stood back, giving them space and thanking whoever his new friend was, for giving Ichigo back his spark.

A lady friend, Tomoko concluded, once she found a beautiful, small and lacy bra somewhere under the bed, hidden from sight by the bed covers hanging off the bed. A lady friend that might have had a pretty interesting day at work, by the looks of it. Still, Tomoko left it on the nightstand, hoping that the owner would eventually get it back.

Instead, Tomoko started finding more and more items belonging to the lady friend, ranging from hats and scarves, to a silk bathrobe hanging near Ichigo’s in the bathroom. The bunny-themed small socks made her a little bit reticent, but Tomoko trusted Ichigo.

Besides, the lady friend clearly had taste when it came to Chappy, as a very (not actually) annoyed Ichigo had put it, peppering the discussions with details that Tomoko was nonchalantly (and avidly) gathering. Her favourite colours were pink and purple and that she liked his omelette (Tomoko decided not to destroy any budding relationship by telling him that the lady was either taste blind or simply too nice to tell him the truth).

Mugs, slippers, tea blends and coffee beans that looked more expensive than Tomoko’s entire salary, a cute fluffy blanket. A drawing with some clumsy looking bunnies and some stick figures with their heads on fire. The hairbrush filled with dark hairs. The toothbrush.

Tomoko idly wondered if Ichigo realised that his lady friend was slowly moving in as the year went by. She shook her head, amused – boys like Ichigo, like Tadashi, her late husband, boys like this are oblivious, and wouldn’t know love if it hit them in the face with a katana. Tomoko rolled her eyes fondly. She would know.

It was a Tuesday evening, when Tomoko came about to see Ichigo drinking in plain day, disheveled and draped on the couch. His voice was steady when he greeted her, and Tomoko noticed his bloodshot eyes despite his pointed attempts to avoid her gaze. Soundlessly, she sat on the couch and let him lay his head on her shoulder, pretending not to notice his strangled gasps and the way his shoulders shook rhythmically, like the pulsations of a heart. Oh, Ichigo…

Taking the bottle away once he was asleep on the couch, Tomoko started dusting, finding the flat mostly clean. Taking one last look, she tried to find a blanket to cover him with, and the only one she could find in the drawer was the Chappy blanket, carrying that familiar scent. 

Tomoko left behind her favourite cardigan, barely big enough to cover his entire figure, but she was at peace. It was her favourite cardigan because it made her happy, and Ichigo looked like he could do with some happiness.

The usual schedule ranged from two to four visits per week, according to Ichigo’s requirements and her availability in general, and that week Tomoko has come almost every day, making sure that the clearly sleep deprived – and thankfully sober – doctor actually ate something. For the most part he was silent, the amber of his eyes having lost his warmth; still, Ichigo shot her glances filled with gratefulness, even as sometimes she could hear the cutlery scraping against the bottom of the plates. Every day, windows were left wide open, for the lady’s perfume to exit and for the outside world to come in.

Closed within himself though, Ichigo seemed to despise everything related to the outside world; without a soothing sound or gentle light, whenever Tomoko looked back at the dark door that had just been closed, she imagined the golden boy sinking deeper into the darkness.

However, their fight was not that long, if Tomoko were to judge by the sleeping figure in Ichigo’s bed, who had carelessly left the door wide open. _That boy really needed to stop rushing so much through life,_ she silently judged the mental image she had of him running around and almost dropping the stacks of papers he seemed to have glued to his hand. The lady startled awake and sat up immediately, covering herself with the sheet when the realisation dawned on her that it wasn’t Ichigo who woke her up. Tomoko wanted to end her suffering, abstaining from laughing at how startled the young lady looked, almost like a bunny herself.

Though Tomoko had to admit, the lady was gorgeous, with her big, bright amethyst eyes and dark hair, and even the pretty blush that dusted her cheeks before she regained composure, almost as if a switch was pressed. Considering how mortified she must have been, Tomoko was impressed.

“Good morning, Horikoshi-san! Ichigo told me so much about you!” she chimed in, her voice honeyed with sleep. _Oh,_ Tomoko thought to herself, _he seemed to avoid telling me about your name like the plague._

“You can call me Tomoko, miss, there is no use for honorifics at this point.” Tomoko let out a mostly dignified snort, and in turn, the girl gave her own blinding, lopsided smile.

“My name is Rukia, and I am Ichigo’s… friend.”

Tomoko’s pointed look made her blush again. 

“Alright, Rukia-san, would you like to have some breakfast? I am not exactly a Michelin chef, but Lord only knows that someone has to feed this child.”

Rukia laughed and wholeheartedly agreed, and Tomoko went to the kitchen, where she gathered her ingredients for something that was probably overkill, but she knew that Rukia-san was probably used to some of the best cuisines. Best may it be, but if not signed by Tomoko Horikoshi, then it was all in vain. 

Five minutes later, Rukia made her appearance in the kitchen in the silk robe, looking like she came straight out of a magazine, save for her messy hair and the bit of dried toothpaste on her cheek that she didn’t seem to notice. Barefoot, her footsteps were still audible behind Tomoko, who was mixing the batter for some souffle pancakes. 

Ten minutes later, they were talking about their resident dork, exchanging stories like old money. The gleam in her eyes was mischievous and fond at the same time, reminding Tomoko of her younger self, and maybe of some decisions she wished she had made; still, when Ichigo burst through the door claiming that someone called Byakuya had taken a surprise vacation in the Belize with Renji (and that apparently, it was about time!), and that the company was going up in flames without her, Rukia just beamed at him with all the fondness in the world, her smile lighting up the room like an eternal sunshine.

And well, if Tomoko just _so happened to think of a wedding cake design_ , who could even blame her?

**Author's Note:**

> So, in case anyone was looking for additional information about this AU:  
> * Tomoko was the equivalent of a state champion baker.  
> * Ichigo is a surgeon and kind of a genius, and has positively no idea how to take care of himself.  
> * Rukia is the COO of the Kuchiki company, and Byakuya is the CEO who was more or less convinced by everyone to finally ask Renji out.


End file.
